


Webs

by GingerBreton



Series: Vigilance:  The untold stories [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Giant Spiders, Pre-Relationship, The Blight (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/pseuds/GingerBreton
Summary: This one shot is to accompany A Chance At Freedom (chapter 9 of vigilance).Izzy and Morrigan separate from the group in Lothering to go in search of ingredients for poisons; a welcome excuse to get away from their odd new companion and to steer clear of the Chantry. The apostate and the heathen make their way into the woods just outside of the village, meanwhile Alistair takes some time to process the news about Arl Eamon… or that’s what he intended to do.





	Webs

Morrigan and Ysabelle stood, listening to the gentle creak of the windmill’s sails as they watched the retreating figures of their companions. The boys and their new friend were free to deal with the Chantry - a place neither of them wished to set foot in – while they would bring in some coin. 

A man had approached them, beady eyes peering out from a deeply lined face, appraising them carefully before making his proposition.  Ysabelle had listened, not entirely convinced of his story, but the offer of one hundred silver was too much to pass up – they had to eat after all.  The man had assured her that there should be materials in the woods outside the village, and so she had reluctantly agreed.  Poisons were the order of the day. 

The lyrical notes of Leliana’s conversation drifted on the breeze, catching in Ysabelle’s ears and making her stomach twist.  There was nothing untoward in what was being said, just stories of Lothering, but something was off about her, and it wasn’t that she had visions – though that was worrying enough.  The traitorous knot tugged at her stomach as she watched the Wardens relax in the woman’s company.  How could she create such ease, when all Ysabelle could create was tension?  She felt off kilter and desperate to be away from the village. 

When she turned to leave, she was startled to see Morrigan crouched a little way away, handing a single raven feather to a young girl, who stared at her in awe.  The girl scurried off to her father, who watched them suspiciously for a moment before turning his attention to the feather his daughter was waving desperately in his face.  If even Morrigan was doing a better job at interacting with people right now, then Ysabelle really needed lighten up. 

“What?” snapped Morrigan, shooting her a resentful look, like she’d been caught being more human than she was comfortable with. 

“Nothing.”  Ysabelle smiled at her.  She knew better than to tease – not that there was anything to tease about - and the action didn’t shock her in the way it might have her companions.  She was only alive because of the kindness of Morrigan, after all.  She nodded to the woods that curled around the northern edge of the village.  “Shall we?” 

* * *

Though the afternoon sun was high in the sky, the dappled rays filtering between the branches didn’t afford much light for foraging.  They’d hoped for maybe some deathroot, but the ground was too damp underfoot for it to grow properly.  So, then they’d looked for mushrooms, but apparently the ground wasn’t damp enough for the toxic sort to grow.  The cave they’d seen by the river was a last resort.  From the outside it didn’t look very large, but hope was dwindling as the afternoon drew on, and they needed the money, so they decided they might as well take a look. 

The air was dank and stale, leaving a sickening taste that coated the back of the throat.  The light levels plummeted, leaving it near pitch black within twenty feet of the entrance. Silence pervaded the space, not allowing a sound from the outside world to drift to them, only the slow dripping that echoed all around.  Water slid from the roof of the cavern, building at the base of stalactites, falling with a steady plop into pools upon the ground. 

The rocks were uneven, slick with water and slime where the ground began to slope downhill.   As their feet skittered on the floor, Morrigan steadied herself on her staff, and Ysabelle on Morrigan’s shoulder. 

“It’s deeper than I thought it would be.”  Despite murmuring, her voice caught as an echo, bouncing all around them as though she had shouted the words. 

“Tis true, I was not expecting this.”

She could just about make out Morrigan’s head turning against the fading glow of entrance as she attempted to scan the cave.  Their voices bounced back to them, growing duller with every cycle, like whispers from other mouths, lost in the dark.  The air had stripped them of all the warmth they’d earned from the sun and Ysabelle was convinced that she would see her breath – if there had been any light to speak of.  She shivered. Even the damp chill seemed to be affecting her companion, whose shoulders were hunched against the cold, arms only stretched out far enough to aid her balance, but not lose too much heat.

They continued down, stepping slowly so as to not fall on the unforgiving ground.  Morrigan’s boot slipped, the mud that had coated them from traipsing through woodland had now turned traitorous, sending a cascading of pebbles scattering down the path ahead of them.

There was something else behind the reverberations cast by the stones, something else that skittered in the darkness that didn’t quite match the sounds around it, too faint and fast for them to be sure, but enough to make them hesitant to proceed.  The air grew fowler, carrying on it the smell of decay, a smell that must have grown so steadily that they didn’t notice it until it was overwhelming. 

Ysabelle tripped, casting out a hand into the darkness to try to catch herself. Her palm hit something damp and slimy against her skin, but the surface had give to it, and as she tried to pull away, gossamer-like threads tugged at her hand and sleeve, eventually snapping as she dragged herself further away.  There was a familiarity in the texture that made the hairs rise up on the back of her neck, though she couldn’t place it.   

“I just touched something and I don’t think it was a wall,” she exclaimed, wiping the disgusting substance on her trouser leg.  Suddenly their little trip into the woods felt like a very stupid idea.  “Can you do anything about the light?”

Morrigan nodded slowly – not that anything was visible by this point – and held out her palm, channelling and focussing the mana to create a candle-like flame that danced inches above her hand.  Despite its tiny source, the sudden light was enough to make the women wince, their eyes having grown accustomed to the darkness. 

As Ysabelle blinked away the spots from her visible, she caught sight of Morrigan.  Her friend’s eyes were growing wider by the second as she slowly gawped up behind Ysabelle’s head.  Her blood ran cold and the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle as she slowly turned to look at what could have brought such horror to this fearless woman. 

Directly behind her was a hideous cocoon – the thing she must have steadied herself on – a good six feet in length, suspended above the ground.  The light glittered off thousands of tiny threads that covered the walls, winding around the cocoon as they twisted together, arching towards the ceiling, growing thick as rope as they climbed. Where the strands met, high above them, was a shadow, huge and squat.  As they watched it, long legs began to uncurl as the creature crept forwards into the light. 

The flame’s reflection danced in the blackness of eight soulless eyes. 

* * *

Alistair sauntered through the fields on the edge of Lothering, idly tossing a stick for the Bann.  He had wandered the Chantry’s gardens for almost an hour in the hope of calming some of his worries about Arl Eamon.  The distraction had worked, and he’d left the grounds with a renewed sense of hope. 

Growing bored with waiting for Aedan and Leliana, he’d decided to see if the others had finished their errand.  No luck on that front either.  So, he’d struck out in the general direction they’d headed in, the Bann barking merrily at any birds they startled as they skirted the crop fields. 

A scream cut through the tranquil afternoon air like a dose of ice to his veins. 

The Bann let out a howl, his hackles raised, as he went bounding forward through the trees.  Alistair was just seconds behind him, adrenalin carrying his footsteps, the sudden rush of adrenalin threatening to make him dizzy.  He dragged his sword from its sheath, as he plunged on after the mabari, stumbling over roots and past whipping branches. 

* * *

The fireball had erupted from the tiny flame in Morrigan’s hand, as much in shock as it was in strategy, hitting the monstrous spider full in torso, sending it recoiling with a hideous squealing noise. 

“Run!”

Ysabelle’s voice was strained, her throat burning from the involuntary scream that had burst from her lungs when the creature had loomed over her. The women turned, slipping and scrabbling their way back up the slope towards the light.  So close they daren’t look, the sound of too many legs scurried through the darkness behind them. 

A bundle of web shot past Ysabelle’s shoulder - almost catching her - sticking like glue to the wall of the cave ahead of them.  She knocked Morrigan out of the path of a second bundle, both women skidding round to face their adversary.  In the faint light it was even more hideous than when it had loomed from the darkness, having to squeeze its massive form through the narrower sections near the cavern’s entrance.  Black, bristly hair covered it from its head to the tip of all eight of its huge legs, which extended desperately towards them, trying to close the gap between itself and its prey as it pulled itself through the small space. 

Despite the sun’s rays spilling into the cave entrance, there was a void of cold building around Morrigan, ice forming on the end of her staff.   As the cold reached a level where Ysabelle thought that she too would begin to ice over, the spell sprang forth, striking the closest of the massive legs that stretched out towards them, freezing it solid.  Without a second thought Ysabelle drew a sword, leaping forward and bringing the blade down with the full weight of her body behind it.  The leg shattered, bringing with it an enraged screech from the creature. 

“How is it even making that noise??” yelled Ysabelle, over the horrifying sound.  “I didn’t think they had lungs!”

“Does that really matter right now?!”

They sprinted for the cave’s entrance and out into the sunshine, just as the spider dragged itself from the narrowed section and surged forward.

The light burned Ysabelle’s eyes but she plunged on, diving to the side as soon as she cleared the entrance.  Morrigan was not so quick.  She stumbled as slick rock became grass, catching herself on her staff, but not quickly enough to dodge the web that came flying from the cave’s entrance from clinging to her legs. 

The witch was dragged to the ground as the spider curled over on itself, using its remaining legs to start winding the thread, dragging the entangled woman back towards the cave.  Ysabelle drew her other blade.

“Morrigan!  Zap it!”

The woman snapped out of her momentary stupor, her eyes casting around for the staff she had dropped when she hit the ground.  There was no way she could reach it before her body slipped back into the blackness of the cavern.  Morrigan delved within herself, harnessing the fear that chilled her to the bone, using every ounce of willpower to push her horror into a tangible ball of energy within her clenched fist.  It burst forth with a scream all its own, temporarily stunning the spider – its many eyes glazing in terror.

“Now!”

With a prayer to anything benevolent that might be listening, Ysabelle sprang back into the cave’s entrance, only just managing to duck under its gnashing maw, giving her a horrifying glimpse of venom-coated fangs the length of her arm.  Her momentum carried her forward on the slick floor to the underbelly of the beast, and when she forced her blades above her head, she had never been so glad of her father’s diligent maintenance of her mother’s old weapons. 

The creature shrieked above her, but the sharp steel had already plunged hilt deep into its belly, its hairs rubbing raw against her skin as she slid the full length of its body.  Behind her fell a cascade of viscera.  She rolled out from underneath it, blades in hand, just as the spider crashed to the floor, its remaining legs curling in on themselves. 

She stood in stunned silence, disgusted at the reality of what lay on the ground in front of her – and at the contents of its insides which still dripped down her arms. 

“A little help, if you wouldn’t mind,” a snarky voice called across the beast. 

* * *

Alistair tumbled out of treeline into a tiny clearing by a river, still gripping his sword tightly in a sweaty hand.  The Bann came bounding up to him, all of the fright he had shown replaced with his usual good-natured curiosity.  Sat on a rock by the water, washing something from her sleeves, was Ysabelle. 

“Are you alright?”

He gave the clearing a cursory glance for anything untoward, but nothing seemed out of place, just the woman in front of him who looked like she’d been in a scuffle.  He couldn’t see any abrasions on her, just mud and some other dark liquids he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“I’m fine.”  She didn’t snap, but he got the decided impression that she hadn’t wanted whatever happened here to become public knowledge.  “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I heard a scream…”

“Oh… well, that was me,” she conceded with a shrug, avoiding his eye as she made her admission.  “I just _hate_ spiders, that’s all.”

“Spiders?” he chuckled, half expecting to see a small splattered body somewhere nearby, but the way she nodded towards a cave entrance in the hillside drew his attention.  “Maker’s breath!?”

He didn’t know how he could have missed it before – too focussed on his fellow Warden, that’s how – but jutting from the cave was an enormous hairy leg, at least the width of a small tree trunk. 

“At least we’ve got some toxin extract out of this debacle.”  Morrigan’s voice echoed out from the cave, where she emerged carrying a couple of flasks filled with an acid green liquid.  Her face suddenly souring at the sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.” 

The Bann bounded over to her, standing up on his hind legs and trying to lick some of the spider goop from her face. 

“Careful, you wretched hound!”

Alistair whistled him back to heel, trying not to laugh but failing spectacularly.  Though the size of the creature they’d killed was astounding, he found he couldn’t help but chuckle every time he saw a new bit of web or slime on Morrigan’s person. 

His behaviour earned him some very sour looks and a walk back to the village in silence, broken only by the Bann chuffing happily whenever he saw anything of interest. 

* * *

They made it back to the Chantry’s without further incident, well, if you didn’t count handing over poison to a very shady looking gentleman in exchange for a bag of coins. 

“So, it was an eventful afternoon then?” he grinned at them, ready to have his head bitten off again. 

“One we will never speak of again,” snarked Morrigan, her glare colder than any spell he’d seen her conjure. 

“But was it really worth it for a hundred silver?”  He raised his eyebrows, looking between the two irritable faces before him.  “Do you think maybe next time we should avoid dodgy men in pubs?”

“We need the money, Alistair.”  Ysabelle’s face was serious.  She wasn’t sulking any more, her eyes were searching his for some kind of comprehension.  “I understand that between the Templars and the Wardens, you’ve been… provided for, but nobody’s going to take care of us.  We’re going to need every bit.” 

“Little harsh,” he winced.  “Do we really need it so much, that it’s worth risking your life for?”

She ran her hand back through her hair - the section that fell so prettily across her eye whenever it came loose – and looked up at him, big green eyes meeting amber, in a silent apology for her harshly spoken words, but also as a plea for some kind of understanding.  He could see the worry etched around her eyes and it reminded himself of how she’d come to be recruited in the first place.  Trying to provide for others seemed to have a habit of getting her into trouble.      

“I’m sorry—it’s just our little party’s growing, and that’s a lot of mouths to feed.  We’re going to need to make what money we can, where we can, and if that means helping people, then great,” she paused, biting her lip as though considering how best to continue.  “But if that means doing something a little more suspect… then we might have to do that too.  We can’t afford to waste money.”

He sighed.  She wasn’t wrong.  There were a lot of them now, and he had to admit that with all the worry about the Blight, Loghain and now Arl Eamon, thinking about things as basic as feeding themselves hadn’t even entered his mind. 

“I understand, just be careful, yeah?”

He gave her a half smile, spotting a piece of web that had been shaken loose from her hair when she swept it back.  Waiting for her to look away, he plucked at it, before leaning around her and dangling in front of her face.  He couldn’t help but laugh at the involuntary squeal she made as she slapped his hand away. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> As i've said in the summary, this one shot goes hand in hand with chapter 9 of The Time For Vigilance Is Over. I would have loved to get in the chapter, but would have made things really long and not exactly moved the plot along. 
> 
> It's been a little while since i've written action, so apologies if this is a little clunky! I'm sure i'll get used to it again.


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